


Home Fires

by Omorka



Category: Real Ghostbusters
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 16:39:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omorka/pseuds/Omorka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Janine's left alone in the firehouse again, and needs a little stress relief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Fires

**Author's Note:**

> Unrequited (?) Janine/Egon, and maybe a hint of Janine/Peter, too, if you squint.

"Good luck, guys!" She waved as Ecto-1 went screeching backwards out of the garage; they'd let Ray drive again. Typical. She wasn't sure if they'd fixed the automatic door controls yet, so she walked over and pulled the huge doors shut.

Now it was just waiting. She hated these sorts of jobs - multiple Class Fives. Class Fours and below usually weren't all that harmful, though they could be harrowing. The guys might come back with nightmares, but they'd come back in one piece. And Class Sevens and up were just bad news. When the guys went out to take on a demon, Janine felt no shame in worrying about them. But Class Fives and Class Sixes were in that middle area, where she worried anyway, even though she knew that the guys would think she was being silly. After all, Slimer was just one class five, and he could be no end of trouble. At a minimum, one of the guys would come back slimed, probably Peter, and she'd get to hear him complain about it for the rest of the day.

She spent the next half-hour filing the last of the paid invoices on her desk, and then glanced at her watch. It would take the guys at least forty-five minutes to get there in this traffic, then the same length of time to get home, so even if the job took no time at all, she had another hour and no more paperwork to do unless another call came in. Images of the guys facing down some of the awful Class Fives they'd encountered before flitted through her mind - something with horrible fangs taking a bite out of Ray's soft midsection, a pair of hideous claws shredding Winston's chest, Peter screaming in pain as something invisible ripped through his mind, a poltergeist flinging her Egon from a high catwalk to his death several floors below.

She shivered. It was time to take a fifteen-minute break and try to calm down.

Quietly, she tiptoed to one of the lockers, and removed the spare shirt Egon kept in there. Then she crept past her desk into Peter's office, and settled into his chair. She opened the bottom drawer, the one he thought he kept locked - whether he realized that it unlatched when you lifted the back of it with one foot, she didn't know - and riffled through the magazines he kept in there. Most of them were Playboys and Penthouses, but once in a while he picked up more . . . diverse reading material. She came up with an amateur publication from a local college group, a poorly printed collection of color shots of well-tanned, fit-bodied college students of both genders posed risquely in a number of gimmick outfits.

Finding the one that was probably the reason Peter had picked this one up was easy enough. The page before it was already folded back. A co-ed in high heels, a pink jumpsuit unzipped to her mons, and a ridiculous red wig was being eagerly pawed by four men who similarly had little resemblance to the four 'Busters except for hair color, skin tone, and color of jumpsuit. She smiled a little as she scanned the image again, wrapped Egon's shirt around her so that she could smell him, closed her eyes, and hiked up her skirt . . . .

Best way to relax she knew of. And she could still get to the phone in two rings.


End file.
